


you're always striking the match

by volchitsae



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Summer Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volchitsae/pseuds/volchitsae
Summary: "And here we have members of the Japanese Olympic volleyball team, setter Miya Atsumu and wing spiker Sakusa Kiyoomi, as - well - condom distributors. Gentlemen, is this a new part time job on top of your professional volleyball careers?"Atsumu adjusts the bag strap on his shoulder and flicks his bangs back with a bright grin for the camera. Sakusa kind of wants the ground to swallow him whole.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 33
Kudos: 544





	you're always striking the match

“It’s got rice noodles, soup, and beef. _So_ much beef,” Hinata is currently saying to some of the team, fists clenched in excitement. The Japanese Olympic team is currently on their cooldown stretches after winning a preliminary round match against Poland here in the Ariake Arena.

“You held your stretch for five seconds, start again,” Kageyama replies, pressing down on Hinata’s back with one hand while he’s in the middle of a stretch himself.

“That sounds good, Shouyou,” Yaku says. “What’s it called again?”

“Pho. It’s Vietnamese! Do you wanna come with Tobio and I, Yaku-senpai? Anyone else?”

Hyakuzawa, Ushijima, Gao, and Hoshiumi voice their agreement. Iwaizumi sighs and taps his pen on his clipboard. “Hearing about pho makes me miss the restaurants in California.”

“Are you meeting with Oikawa-san for dinner? In honor of you, Iwaizumi-senpai, we’ll go get bubble tea, too.” Iwaizumi laughs, ruffles Hinata’s hair and says, “You let me know if the taro one tastes good.”

Bokuto lifts his cellphone up which is plugged into a portable charger. “Gonna video call Keiji and we’re gonna figure out when he can make it to one of our games. Thanks though, Hinata!”

“I’m meeting up with Kita to eat at Onigiri Miya’s new Tokyo branch,” Aran says, already changed and tying his shoelaces. “Atsumu, I’ll bring back some for you.”

“You’re an angel, Aran,” Atsumu grits out during a stretch. “Tell senpai I say hi.”

“Nothing to Osamu?”

“’Course not. Smack him for me, maybe – ow!” Aran’s cuffed the back of Atsumu’s head and they swat at each other before Aran snickers and takes his leave with a quick fist bump to Sakusa. Atsumu turns.

“Whatcha doin’ tonight, Omi-kun?”

“Sleep,” Sakusa replies, muffled because he’s just flopped face down on the ground to stretch.

Komori on his left kicks at his foot and he kicks back without looking up.

“Hinata, I wanna try pho,” Komori says, and Sakusa inhales slowly to keep himself from kicking him again because he’s made it obvious that Sakusa and Atsumu are the ones left on the team without concrete plans. Why on earth did he confide in Komori about his burgeoning affection for Atsumu?

It’s not like he _asked_ to fall for the most annoying person on the team. But it was easy, so easy he didn’t realize, while playing together for the Black Jackals and being recruited alongside Hinata and Bokuto for the Olympic team. His affection for Atsumu has crept up without Sakusa realizing; and once he did, he’s been regarding his heart with a deep sense of disdain ever since.

He’d figured it would’ve been someone kind of like himself. Consistent and reliable and someone of routine. Examples on the national team include Aran, whose diligence to the sport and the people he cares about paired with dry wit is admirable; or perhaps Iwaizumi, whom Sakusa gets along with quite well because they’re both concerned with the well-being of themselves and the team, although Iwaizumi has been married to Oikawa since his naturalization in Argentina; or even Ushijima, stoic and strong. Respectable and responsible.

Ushijima’s affections lie towards and are reciprocated by Tendou, and Sakusa wonders if Ushijima is in a similar boat as Sakusa is, falling for someone who’s polar opposite in some ways. Atsumu’s both infuriating and infuriating _ly_ handsome, cocksure and driven, and nothing feels quite like hitting his sets. Sakusa’s not one for poetics either, opting to snipe and jab back and forth with Atsumu, but he finds out that it’s kind of _fun._ That being around Atsumu’s fun. That Atsumu, in his own way, is also consistent and reliable; he demands the best because he always gives his best and won’t hesitate to let you know because _he_ knows what you’re capable of. He’ll run his mouth and then dab at the sweat on Sakusa’s forehead, hand him a water bottle, sling an arm around his shoulder and insult Sakusa in the same breath.

The consistency of Atsumu’s asshole nature (to compliment his own) across the teams they’re on together gives Sakusa a sense of comfort as the Jackals blend with various League 1 teams. It gets more confusing with the odd sort of doting Atsumu is also capable of.

Komori finds all of this hilarious, of course.

“A nap does sound pretty good. Can we try orderin’ food from room service? The Olympic Village is _stacked_ , we gotta try all the perks,” Atsumu is saying. Sakusa sits up and blinks blearily. Komori is wiggling his eyebrows at him and he ignores it but doing that means he turns to Atsumu, who’s looking at him expectantly.

He’s sure Atsumu knows, is aware of how they dance around each other with their barbs and end up beside each other anyway. They’re sharing a two-bed room in the Olympic Village, for crying out loud.

It was easy to fall. It’s not quite as easy telling him.

Sakusa rotates his ankle as Iwaizumi pauses to check on it. He landed a little hard on it during a block. “You eat with your eyes. Don’t over order and waste food.”

“But the menu has so many new things, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu wheedles. “They’ve really tried to get as many national foods on the list for all the athletes. We can break the rules n’ eat on the bed.”

“Don’t make jobs harder for the cleaning staff, they’ve put a coffee table in our room for a reason.”

Atsumu huffs. “No fun at all.”

There’s some commotion nearby as the crew cleans the court around them and the team glances over. An employee in the branded Olympic staff uniform is bowing in apology to their supervisor, who is patting their shoulders in reassurance.

“It’s fine, you can catch a train home in the next 15 minutes, right? Let me take the bags and you can go. Just make sure to let me know you’ve gotten home safely.”

“Are you sure, senpai? I know it’s already hard enough with people being taken off our team to fill other spots –“

“I’ll find an extra volunteer from another team somewhere or I’ll handle these myself. You need to get home. It’s completely fine, don’t worry.”

Iwaizumi, in true Iwaizumi fashion, approaches them to help. “Hello, is there a concern?”

The staff member says, “I need to end my shift early because there’s a family emergency.” She’s a little distraught, clutching the two clear satchels to her chest. “I’m already covering for a teammate that got moved to a different department. I need to go home, but these have to go to the condom dispensaries around the Olympic Village.”

It’s then they get a good look at what the clear satchels contain: hundreds of individually packaged condoms, provided for the athletes by the top condom producers in Japan.

“Whatta date for you and Oikawa-san, huh, Iwaizumi?” Atsumu calls, to the amused murmurs and chuckles from the rest of the team. “Y’all can save a few extra for the end of the night.”

“I haven’t heard you say you’ve got plans tonight, have you, Atsumu? He’ll take these for you,” Iwaizumi says, turning back to the woman who visibly deflates in relief. The team bursts into full laughter this time. “Do you have instructions for him?”

Atsumu is completely unphased. He shrugs, well aware he deserves this. “Yessir. Ready to go, Omi-Omi?”

Sakusa’s instantly scowling. “Excuse me? I had plans to sleep. If I recall correctly, Iwaizumi volunteered _you_ , and I had no part in this.” Komori wiggles his eyebrows a little more and Sakusa is reminded of a smug shiba inu, somehow.

“Thank you so much,” the employee and supervisor say, bowing. She writes a few locations on a notepad she has in her pocket and hands the piece of paper to Atsumu. “There’s dispensers at these locations in the Village. Just fill them up until they’re completely full, there should be enough for all of them.”

Atsumu shoulders one bag and Iwaizumi hands Sakusa the other one with a sympathetic clap on his shoulder, who sighs in defeat and loops the strap over his head. He continues ignoring Komori’s pointed stare because yes, he’s spending time with Atsumu, but apparently, they’re off to deliver condoms.

It’s all Atsumu’s fault. As per usual.

“Don’t steal any,” teases Komori, and Atsumu beats Sakusa to throwing a handful of condoms at all of them.

“We’re bein’ charitable with these,” Atsumu sniffs. “Use ‘em well!”

They’re escorted to a cart by the supervisor that shuttles them back to the Olympic Village. They’re thanked profusely again, Atsumu preens under the gratitude, and then they’re booted off the golf cart in the middle of the courtyard of the Village in their Team Japan tracksuits with two giant bags of condoms.

Atsumu looks at the paper and swivels. “There’s the first one,” he says, and then walks the opposite way.

Sakusa doesn’t move, just watches Atsumu walk until Atsumu gives and turns around.

“We gotta take the longest route to get there, Omi-Omi,” he explains, jostling the bag with a suggestive grin. “All athletes from all sports are here, we could get some eye candy just by walkin’ around a little bit. Or they can get eyefuls of me.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes and goes in the direction of the first dispenser to fill. There are a few athletes nearby at the vending machines (for food, not for condoms) who look amused as they open up the dispenser and dump condoms into it. One athlete approaches them; he’s a broad man with bright blue eyes and brown hair. Sakusa racks his brain. Probably an American or European swimmer with those broad shoulders.

“Hey,” the swimmer says in English, smile wide and a little sly. “Those for free?”

“Yes,” Sakusa says. He holds his bag open towards the man. “Do you want some?” His friends snicker and Sakusa catches Atsumu eyeing them carefully, his eyes half lidded and paired with the smirk that’s more of a warning than anything else.

“I’d love to get some,” The man says, and takes two. “And what about you?”

Sakusa’s brow furrows in confusion until he recognizes that there’s innuendo occurring here.

“Oh, no thanks,” he says. He steps back. “Have a good night.” The man and his friends shrug, easy, and saunter off somewhere else.

Atsumu hums. “He was pretty hot. Swimmers not your type?”

“You could’ve jumped in at any time.”

“I dunno, Omi-Omi, he seemed pretty interested in you. I’d prefer to do the pickin’ up myself anyway.” Atsumu resumes his tuneless humming as they make their way to the other dispensers.

On the way there, they’re often stopped by athletes from many different countries who ask for some condoms or try to ask either Sakusa, Atsumu, or both of them out for the night.

“We shoulda’ been keepin’ tabs on who got hit on more,” Atsumu says. He sounds a little put out because Sakusa’s gotten more offers.

“I think anyone with a bag full of condoms would catch someone’s attention.”

“And here I thought you’d say my ravishingly good looks, Omi-kun. Stop laughin’.”

Sakusa isn’t interested in a night with a stranger, of course, but he’s somewhat surprised that Atsumu doesn’t take up any offers he gets either. Sakusa doesn’t have much time to think about exactly why he’s surprised because there’s a news reporter with a camera person making their way over to them right now.

"And here we have members of the Japanese Olympic volleyball team, setter Miya Atsumu and wing spiker Sakusa Kiyoomi, as - well - condom distributors. Gentlemen, is this a new part time job on top of your professional volleyball careers?"

Atsumu adjusts the bag strap on his shoulder and flicks his bangs back with a bright grin for the camera. Sakusa kind of wants the ground to swallow him whole.

“Just doin’ our part for the Olympic Village,” Atsumu says.

“If I’m not mistaken, the Olympic staff have employees or volunteers that refill the dispensers for the athletes. How exactly did we end up with the athletes themselves delivering the condoms?”

“Out of the kindness of our trainer’s heart, we were volunteered in place of an employee who had’ta leave for a family emergency,” Atsumu replies. “It’s one way to spend the evening off.”

“Right, congratulations on the win against Poland today! We’re all incredibly proud.” Both of them nod, sensing she has more condom related things to say. “The Pyeongchang 2018 Winter Olympics had a count for over 37 condoms per athlete,” the news anchor continues, and Atsumu whistles. “Do you think you’ll be needing as many during your time here at the Olympics?”

Sakusa can’t hide his snort at the leading question and elects to ignore it. “On top of preventing pregnancy, one of the most important functions of the condom is to protect against sexually transmitted infections such as gonorrhea, chlamydia, and genital herpes,” he rattles off, also ignoring the way Atsumu’s eyebrows raise and the corners of his mouth lift in amusement.

“Japan has seen a rise in syphilis since 2018, and with many international athletes as our guests, our collective safety is important as we enjoy our time here in the Olympic Village.” He keeps speaking because he hears Atsumu inhale and truly wants to avoid whatever he plans to say.

“This would be an opportune reminder to the nation watching and supporting us to purchase condoms and have safer sex,” he finishes, and looks over to Atsumu who is currently opening a condom in front of the camera.

“And most importantly, have fun!” Atsumu stretches the condom from tip to base to show off the design and reads off one box stashed in the bag. ‘From a collaboration between Condomania and Okamoto Industries, they present the Design Range Collection, with Japan’s famous _Ukiyo-e_ artwork’,” and he holds up the condom with an image of The Great Wave off Kanagawa printed on the sheath.

Sakusa gives a bark of laughter at the hilarity that is one of the most famous traditional Japanese pieces of art printed onto the side of a condom. Is that sacrilegious somehow?

“Betcha Hokusai didn’t think he’d get _this_ popular,” Atsumu says, nudging Sakusa with his elbow, who huffs another laugh.

“Now you’ve wasted a condom. And one with arguably the most Japanese pride attached to the painting on it.”

“It’s promotion, Omi-kun,” Atsumu replies, stretching the condom and taking aim to fling it like a rubber band at Sakusa, who throws it back at Atsumu after picking it up off the ground.

“Guess that means 36 condoms left for me. But if ya sponsored me, Okamoto,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at the camera, “I’m sure that number could get higher.”

The news anchor is giggling. “I’d say you’re doing a great job advertising! Thank you for your time, gentlemen. We’ll let you get back to your work. Looking forward to your game against the Islamic Republic of Iran this Sunday!”

Atsumu gives a cheery wave with the condom at the camera. Sakusa just nods and shoves his hands back into his pockets as she and the cameraperson take their leave out of the Olympic Village to record something else.

After they’re done filling up the dispensers, he notices Atsumu keep a few.

“Saving those for later?”

“Mmhmm. Got my eye on one of the most popular athletes tonight.” Atsumu smirks and Sakusa’s face scrunches in disgust.

“Someone from the swim team?” Sakusa glances across the courtyard.

Atsumu flips a condom like it’s a coin. It lands logo side up and he squares his shoulders, taking a deep breath.

Then he takes a step towards Sakusa.

All at once, realization floods Sakusa’s body.

“Wait,” he says, and Atsumu stops. His hands even go respectfully behind his back. The sudden absence of loose, easygoing movement from Atsumu makes Sakusa understand he’s actually serious.

“We’re doing this?” Sakusa continues. Atsumu’s eyebrows inch up his forehead in confusion.

“Doin’ what? I haven’t even said anything, Omi-kun.”

“This,” Sakusa gestures, his index finger pointing between himself and Atsumu. “Us.”

“I mean, us _doin_ ’ each other is on the table, I hope,” Atsumu says. Sakusa can feel his face flush underneath his mask. Atsumu rocks back and forth on his heels. “I dunno about you, Omi-Omi, but you’re not that dumb to not know we’re tiptoein’ around here.”

“Are you saying you are that dumb?”

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, his laugh keeping Sakusa’s nickname warm. “C’mon.”

_God,_ Sakusa thinks. _He didn’t even take the bait._ The smile on Atsumu’s face is soft and amused. Sakusa’s chest is tight.

“Nope,” Sakusa says, popping the _p_. “You started it.”

Atsumu squints at him, incredulous. “You’re such an _ass_ , you interrupted _me!_ Since you did all that instead of lettin’ me confess, you do it.”

He puts his hands in his jacket pockets to mimic Sakusa and steps backwards. Atsumu saying _confess_ out loud makes it all the more real, and suddenly he feels pressure to make it… romantic? Sakusa hasn’t thought this through at all. Atsumu makes him dumb like that, sometimes.

“Betcha’ you can’t confess better than I can.”

Sakusa takes thinking this through and throws it out the window. Atsumu’s always been the one to bring out the more impulsive side of him.

“Fuck you,” he starts.

Atsumu clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Already a zero out of ten, Omi-kun. You’re makin’ this too easy.”

“Fuck you,” he repeats, and keeps going. “Fuck your stupid hair and smile and everything and how you got to this first, I was working up the nerve. Yes, I like you, God knows why, I’ve asked for literally anyone else –“

“Wow, negative two out of ten, what the fuck –“

“– and Komori’s been equally an ass about this, I’m sure he’s told you already, and I had a whole plan –“

“What did my hair ever do t’you? Somethin’ about this makes me think you really didn’t –“

“Anyway, that’s it, we’re boyfriends, this was stupid, you’re stupid, fuck you. Fuck _me,_ ” Sakusa finishes, and then glares at Atsumu. His ears feel hot. Atsumu’s mouth is twitching with how hard he’s pursed his lips not to laugh.

Another beat passes before Atsumu gets right up into Sakusa’s face, his grin sharp. One finger unhooks his mask from one ear and Sakusa’s throat goes dry at the feeling of Atsumu’s breath puffing against his lips.

“Eh, four out of ten. I liked the honesty of the last bit. Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sakusa wants to kiss the smugness right off his face.

“That was awful and I’m never doing it again,” he deadpans.

Atsumu tilts his head, eyes lidded. Sakusa feels himself sway towards Atsumu. “Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu breathes. “I like y’too, Omi-Omi. Can I kiss you?”

“Zero out of ten, where’s your confession? You must’ve pulled down my mask for a reason,” he snaps, always needing to get the last word. Anything else he would’ve gotten out is cut off by the feeling of Atsumu’s mouth on his.

His lips are a little chapped. Sakusa needs to remind him to put chapstick on. Atsumu presses against him carefully, uncharacteristically gentle, as if Sakusa is going to skitter away from him at any moment. Sakusa reaches up and curls his hands into the collar of Atsumu’s jacket to keep him close and opens his mouth to lick into Atsumu’s. The heat of it curls down his spine in the cool evening air.

Atsumu inhales sharply and breaks the kiss, blinking rapidly. There are a few wolf whistles from the athletes and Sakusa resists the urge to run or speedwalk politely away. There’s a speedwalking event, he’s watched it, can’t be that hard.

“We’re doing this,” Atsumu says, like he wasn’t the one initiating it.

“You did say you were hoping it was on the table.”

“I think the bed would be a good start, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa snorts and shoots a look at Atsumu, who just smiles triumphantly and tugs him towards their room with both hands. The clear bags tangle between their legs.

“I’m so glad I pissed Iwaizumi off,” Atsumu sighs.

“He’s gonna fuck you up with his stretches at practice tomorrow.”

“You never have trouble with the stretches, do ya? Here’s hopin’ you can teach me to be flexible.” Atsumu gives Sakusa an awful wink paired with a wiggle of his eyebrows and unlocks their door.

Sakusa scoffs and shakes his head, toeing off his shoes in the doorway. “Is this what it’s going to be like?”

“This is what it’s _always_ been like,” Atsumu says, smug. ‘Y’love it, Omi-kun. Love _me_.”

He’s got a point, but Sakusa isn’t going to tell him that.

“Are you going to listen to what I say to become more flexible?”

“You can just say you wanna boss me around, Omi-Omi. You’re so shy.”

Sakusa huffs and starts to strip – jacket, t-shirt, sweatpants, and he stands in front of Atsumu in his boxer briefs like it’s a challenge. His (sexual?) frustration bleeds out when sees Atsumu’s pupils blow, dark and heated, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly.

Sakusa is reminded that he doesn’t have anything to prove, here. It settles the feeling into something mellower and sweeter, because this isn’t meant to be a competition.

Atsumu swallows audibly again. “Geez, okay, not shy. Damn.” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Which bed, Omi-Omi? Wait, can we put ‘em together?”

Sakusa grabs at his bed. “They’re made of cardboard. Shouldn’t be too heavy.”

“They’re made of _cardboard_?” Atsumu flings the blankets off. “Holy shit, they are. We gotta make a fort, Omi-kun.”

“Right now? Does that mean I have to put my clothes back on?”

“If I had my way, you’d have them off the majority of the time. After, we’ve got like three weeks here in this place. I wanna get to the fun part, we can fuck in the fort later.”

“Why can’t we just do it in the bed like normal people.”

“’Cause forts are fun, unlike you.”

“It’d better be equally as comfortable as when they were in bed form.”

Atsumu sits on their larger bed and tugs at Sakusa’s hips to get him to stand in between his knees. “Get in here, Omi-Omi.”

Sakusa cups Atsumu’s face with both hands and leans over him. “I’m not the one talking about cardboard forts as foreplay.”

A teasing grin blooms on Atsumu’s face. “Why don’tcha get in here so you can show me what we _should_ talk about as foreplay?” Sakusa leans in to kiss him, and Atsumu pulls Sakusa over on top of him in earnest.

They tumble and Atsumu ends up above with Sakusa’s legs on either side of him. “Honestly, Omi-kun, it’s just not fair,” Atsumu breathes, hair mussed from yanking his shirt off. He looms over Sakusa to kiss him open-mouthed. “Been dreamin’ ‘bout these thighs.”

Sakusa makes a noise that’s part laugh, part incredulous exasperation. “You’re usually in front of me when we’re on the court. When do you get the chance?”

“Uh, when we _rotate_ , duh.”

Sakusa hums and smooths his hands down Atsumu’s chest. “This is nice too.” He sits up to nose at Atsumu’s neck and bite at his jaw, to which Atsumu shivers and drops onto Sakusa with his full weight.

“I don’t think this is how it’s supposed to go,” Sakusa says. His arms smooth up Atsumu’s spine as he feels Atsumu huff into the crook of his shoulder.

“Can you let a guy get his bearings, Omi-kun?”

“If you are somehow unsure of where our dicks are, I’m going to have to interrupt this with sex ed.”

“Oh, just like on camera earlier?”Atsumu’s head pops up, nerves forgotten.

Sakusa refuses to blush. “Syphilis really is on the rise.” Atsumu winces at the idea of it and decides to get right back to business by taking both of their erections in hand to press against each other through their underwear. Both of them shudder at the pressure. Their kisses and hips get faster and messier with Sakusa gripping Atsumu’s hips with both hands to urge his hips to roll. He craves skin on skin, and tugs at their underwear to expose their cocks. Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat when the heads meet and press, pre-cum sliding and mixing.

Atsumu gets their underwear off and Sakusa takes a moment to admire and touch, fist curling at the base of Atsumu’s cock and dragging up. He feels a sense of satisfaction to see Atsumu’s hips curve up to meet his hand. Atsumu reaches to reciprocate and they figure out each other’s favoured pace; short fast strokes that stop just underneath the head for Atsumu and slower ones with a twist around the head for Sakusa which tear a deep groan out of him.

Atsumu sits up and grabs a condom and a packet of lube (also from a dispenser), trying to do the supposedly sexy thing of tearing the condom packet open with his teeth. The foil corner rips off and gets into his mouth and Sakusa snorts loudly while Atsumu splutters.

“I want you to top. Please don’t do the same thing with the lube, it’s not even flavoured.” Atsumu nods and tosses the lube packet onto Sakusa’s chest for somewhere to put it and rolls the condom onto his erection with one hand, the other holding his cock in place.

Sakusa opens the lube packet (with both hands and taking advantage of the convenient notch in the edge of the wrapper) and slicks his fingers up.

“I’d like to do this myself,” he says. “Watch?”

“Front row seat,” Atsumu breathes, eyes fixed on how Sakusa spreads his legs and how his eyelids flutter when he presses in with one finger. He reaches and grabs one of Atsumu’s hands to plant it on his dick, and hisses when Atsumu launches right into the perfect pace.

“Fuck,” Atsumu says, breathless. “Y’look so good, Omi-kun.”

“Want this,” Sakusa murmurs. He presses another finger in and scissors, hips shifting into Atsumu’s hand, then draws them out and clenches for show. “Want you in me, Atsumu.”

“You were so tongue tied earlier, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu pants. “Not that I’m complainin’, but how is this easier than confessin’?”

“You’re stuck with me now,” Sakusa says, only realizing how both vulnerable and guarded it seems after he’s said it. “Now that I know you’re not going anywhere, it’s easier to be sure.”

Sakusa looks up at him and their eyes meet. They pause, suddenly quiet.

Atsumu reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. The end of the curl sticks to his knuckle as Atsumu cups his face, like even his hair doesn’t want him to go too far.

“You thought I’d say no?”

“There was always a non-zero chance of you saying no,” Sakusa replies. He wills himself to face Atsumu and his emotions head-on. 

Atsumu lets out a soft chuckle. “I don’t think I’d ever refuse you anything, and ‘specially not this.”

Sakusa tilts his chin up and flexes his hips. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Atsumu’s eyes go from warm to hot and Sakusa feels his blood heat up with it. His hands come down to help Atsumu line himself up and Atsumu eases his way in. The stretch isn’t as painful because Sakusa’s taken the time to prepare, but it’s still different to his hands.

They’re both panting into each other’s mouths when Atsumu bottoms out.

“Welcome to Omi-Omi’s ass, population: one,” Atsumu quips.

“Shut the fuck up, oh my _god_ ,” Sakusa says, and they splutter into laughter, dissolving into moans when the movement pushes them up against each other. The tension rises as Atsumu leans back up to hoist one of Sakusa’s legs over his shoulder and snaps his hips. Sakusa’s back arches and he pumps his cock in time with Atsumu’s thrusts, feeling full and burning from the inside out with desire, on the cusp of release. Sweat slides from Atsumu’s hairline and flecks across Sakusa’s forearms, and all Sakusa wants is for Atsumu to be even closer.

He yanks at Atsumu’s arms and Atsumu drops for the second time, teeth clanking as they kiss. His thrusts start to lose rhythm and Sakusa leans his head back to cup Atsumu’s face with one hand.

“Atsumu,” he says, and watches his brow furrow before Atsumu buries his face into the crook of Sakusa’s neck as he comes, his thrusts shallow then deeper and deeper to ride his orgasm. The friction of his cock against Atsumu’s sweat slick abdomen coupled with the hot slide of Atsumu in him is enough to push Sakusa over the edge himself.

“Get up,” Sakusa says, pushing at the mass of body currently crushing him into the bed.

“Whatever happened to post-coital spoonin’,” Atsumu whines. “Where’s your sense of _romance_ , Omi-kun?”

“I’m trying to get us to clean up and stretch because we’re going to be sore as fuck during tomorrow’s practice.”

“You think Iwaizumi has specific stretches after sex?” Atsumu carefully pulls out and discards the condom, wobbling over to the bathroom to grab a towel and clean up the lube.

Sakusa hums and slides off the bed to stand and stretch his quads. “Probably before sex, even.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“The next time you pull a hamstring or something in the middle of it, don’t come crying to me.”

Atsumu flops onto the bed. “I’ll cry right now because we’re not cuddlin’.”

“You are going to regret not stretching.”

“Wanna bet?” Atsumu's voice is muffled from lying facedown into the bedsheets.

“What are the terms?”

“I win and don’t regret stretching, we fuck in the fort. You win and we don’t build a fort and fuck in bed.”

“It seems like you score in either case.”

“Uh, so do you, Omi-Omi. I’m quite the prize and it’s the best kind of bet, a win-win.”

Sakusa shrugs and plans to cuddle anyway after stretching. “Deal.”

The next day, when Atsumu is whining from how stiff his legs are, he turns and asks Iwaizumi about post-sex stretches that would be useful given that Atsumu didn’t see Iwaizumi in their section of rooms in the Olympic Village during the night.

The number of laps Atsumu is made to do after practice means Sakusa builds the fort as a pick-me-up with food from room service ordered. Atsumu nearly upends the spread of food to kiss Sakusa, and then some.

It’s safe to say that Sakusa can’t refuse Atsumu anything, either.

**Author's Note:**

> title from [save a kiss](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLIESvLSDKA) by jessie ware.
> 
> i'd like to apologize for all of the liberties i've taken regarding the olympic schedules and when athletes have time off, and condom delivery. also that's a job i'd like to have.
> 
> the beds for the 2020 olympic games in japan really are made of [cardboard](https://english.kyodonews.net/news/2019/09/1c7d08d3e0c2-olympics-recyclable-cardboard-bed-customizable-mattress-for-2020-athletes.html), as well!
> 
> thank you for reading!


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